Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #324

Today we have James Chartrand choosing the words. I bet she can’t do her own challenge! 😉

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.) NOTE: Our bolding plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put <b> and </b> around each of your words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. Fluidity
  2. Flexible
  3. Plastic
  4. Adaptability
  5. Malleable
  6. Supple
  7. Fluent
  8. Pliancy – amount of flexibility
  9. Various
  10. Haddock

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

22 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #324”

  1. When the hair at my temples assumed the color of a haddock’s belly, silvery and shiny, when the plastic nature of my youthful cheek began to sag, he began to sag, too. Oh, he’d wandered over our twenty years with a kind of supple adaptability, so slowly, I only figured out each infidelity in its quiet, penitent aftermath.

    As his young bride, I learned to affect a malleable affability that women are taught in so many unspoken lessons. I didn’t learn these things from The Duchess, because she did not affect anything other than brittle arrogance to men and woman alike. I learned from Aunt Janice, and from the mothers of my friends who tipped their heads at their <bvarious husbands, demur, submissive. They spoke a fluent silent language of the settled. As our years went by, mine and Teddy’s, my pliancy lessened as his attention to his marital vows grew more flexible. He didn’t bother with subterfuge.

    The day I yanked the phone connection from the wall, after answering another call from another of his trollops, the day I piled his clothes into garbage bags with a quiet storm of pupose, the day I told him to leave was the day I reclaimed my fluidity.

  2. Anklebuster says:

    “Paper or plastic, Ma’am?” The clerk bowed deeply, nearly cracking his head on the cash register.

    President Sasha Obama chuckled, “Don’t you mean, ‘wallet or wheelbarrow‘?” She whipped out her Armageddon Express. As the clerk rang up her basket of goods, the President filled her own grocery bag.

    “That will be 250,000 won, total, Ma’am. Your card was declined.” The clerk had the grace to blush.

    “My daddy taught me to never swear in public. But I’m going to have to put this haddock back. It smelled rank, anyway.” The President walked out of the store with just the bread and wine. She sighed. She was flexible when it came to the kitchen, but her pliancy would be tested.


    The frying pan sizzled when the President flicked a drop of water into it. “Ah, nice and ready.” She smiled at her daughter, LaVaughn.

    “Can I put the tofu in, mommy?” LaVaughn was hopping from foot to foot. Whether from hunger or anticipation, the young girl was a dynamo.

    “Well, the Good Cookbook says to cast your bread upon the waters. We should do that, first.” The President grabbed one of the five loaves. She dropped the whole bag, unopened, into the glass bowl. More water splashed out as the bag morphed into a giant salmon filet.

    “Yippee, you did it, mommy!” LaVaughn clapped delightedly. She tossed the tofu into the pan and watched as her mother expertly dipped the filet in the batter before sliding it next to the tofu.

    The President chuckled, took a swig from the wine bottle and yelled out, “Dinner!”

    Vice President Chelsea Clinton swept into the room. She was burbling into her smart phone as she sat at the kitchen table. “Voulez vous what? You nasty bastard, Why can’t you just once make a deal that doesn’t involve your …” she noticed LaVaughn goggling at her, switched to Farsi and completed her diatribe.

    “Hi, Aunt Chelsea! What’s %*##@!!$?”

    The President glared at her Vice-President. “I told you, Vonnie is fluent in all Indo-European languages!”

    “Sorry, Sasha. The Liberian Treasury Secretary insists on showing me how supple he is in …”


    LaVaughn giggled. She loved it when the Clintons came over for Friday Night dinner. Her mother and the Vice-President were always saying naughty things. The meals were nothing like the extravagances of her mother’s girlhood, but LaVaughn knew that her grandparents, along with all the other grandparents, had left a raggedy world for Lavaughn’s generation. No matter how much her mother defended his policies, LaVaughn knew that Pop-pop was more like FDR than his beloved Lincoln.

    “Go wash your hands, babies.” The President smiled as the Clinton brood trooped in. Her outstretched pointed finger brooked no argument from the kids. She stood watching until LaVaughn and the triplets had completely left the room. Then she hurriedly sat down next to her friend and closest advisor.

    “Chelsea, you were right. All of the various indicators suggest that the United Korean Monetary Bank is about to make its move. We do not have the fluidity to weather another depression! Our assets are literally illiquid: there is not a drop of water on Mars, so mining operations are ten times more expensive than projected. If we don’t get an influx of unobtanium soon, the won will become the de facto world currency!”

    “That’s what I was trying to tell that hot-blooded Secretary. Gbowee has his own agenda, touting the adaptability of the West African Monetary Union’s policies over those of the Fed.”

    The President thought for a moment. “Well, he wants to sleep with you, right? What if we let him think you were malleable enough to consider it? We could get that guy Harvey to leak a rumor that the Fed and Liberia are going to join forces to rein in global inflation. Your presence in Monrovia just might be enough to make the Koreans back down!”

    “Oh, Sasha. Mama like!” the Vice-President said this just as the four children returned to the kitchen.

    LaVaughn looked at the two women, squinted her eyes and then breathed a sigh of relief. Pop-pop would be forgiven, after all.

  3. K says:

    His fluidity and pliancy shock her. He deposits some inflexible glasses of milk into the cardboard box laid on the ground for his delivery. Although his thick arms indicate supple muscles capable of crushing malleable metals, he handles the shipments of dairy products with care. Stepping out of the comfort of the gate, she gasps as he glances in her direction. Her adaptability to this quandary worsens when he speaks to her.

    “Would you like some chocolate milk, butter, or cheese?”

    “Um,” it takes a minute before she forms a response. “Some butter, please.” He fishes out a large stick of butter from his pack and hands it to her.

    “Here you go, miss,” he says. She notes his slight accent, deducing that he spoke another language fluently. Finding a spare moment afterwards, she decides to strike up a conversation.

    “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around town before. What’s your name?” she asks.

    “No, miss. I have been delivering milk to this neighborhood for about a year ago.” Her cheeks redden. Why hadn’t she noticed him before today? “The name’s Calvin,” he continues. “I usually do my runs at the crack of dawn. That’s why you might not see me around much. I was running a bit late today since I got caught up at the harbor for my other job.” She brightens after his reply.

    “You fish? I love fish,” she gushes. “My family hates the smell and tells me to never buy any, but I manage to sneak some in the house. Fresh fish is great especially if it’s haddock. Sorry.” She catches Calvin’s eyes. “Pay no attention to my rambling.”

    “No, no. It’s fine. If I do catch some haddock, I’ll be sure to come find you. I appreciate the interest. Many people don’t eat it in this town which I think is odd as I’m a big fan of fish myself. May I have your name, miss?”

    “It’s Emma. Emma Riley.” Gathering some courage, Emma extends her hand. To her surprise, Calvin accepts it, shaking her hand.

    “It was nice to meet you, Emma. I will get back to you on the haddock. See you around?” Emma nods. Calvin starts down the street, becoming smaller in the distance. Emma lingers in front of the gate for a moment then sighs. Gathering th box of milk in her arms, she places the butter on top of the various bottles and heads back into the house. That’s strange. Her heart pounds at a frenzied rate in her chest. Feeling it flutter for the first time in awhile, Emma smiles as she enters the house. Her feelings had not been plastic and forced upon her as they been in the past.

  4. Shane Arthur says:

    Okay, I blame James for what I’m about to post …

    One must possess fluidity and adaptability with such matters. I’m therefore fluent in various testing methods (some involving plastics) to determine the pliancy, malleability, and flexibility of my supple haddock.

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